Hunting High School

Accompanied by that scream, the drunkard felt a light behind him, his feet fell back to the ground, and he found the feeling of gripping the ground.

Those wet and slippery slabs that he complained about thousands of times on weekdays looked extraordinarily cute at the moment, which gave him the urge to prostrate on the ground to pray and give thanks.

The premise is that he can survive from the mouth of the monster in front of him.

With the support of his legs, the alcoholic's arms could use more strength. He struggled desperately backwards, but the legs around his waist and shoulders seemed to be made of iron and remained motionless. He could only look at the Opening his bloody mouth, he was getting closer and closer to himself.

"Don't come here!" He shouted in despair, "Get out of here!!"

"Well, this should be the bridal bride."

A young man's voice faintly came from the ear, rekindling the flame of hope in the drunkard's heart: "Help! Help! There are monsters!!"

"Be quiet...then, close your eyes." The young man's voice sounded in his ears.

The alcoholic didn't intend to listen to that voice at all—alcohol burned his spirit and put him in a state of extreme arousal, with only the thought of 'struggle' in his mind.

And the young man's voice only reminded him once.

Immediately.

A white light flashed in front of the drunkard.

Swish!

The alcoholic suddenly discovered that his struggle had worked, and he felt a lightness in his upper body. Under the force of his feet, his whole body fell backwards forcefully, backed up a few steps one after another, and then sat down on the wet stone floor .

Only then did he regain his senses and look at the monster again.

I saw that the baby carriage seemed to have been split by a sharp weapon, and it was neatly broken into four or five sections, and the baby monster was also cut into pieces along with the body, with a few skinny joints scattered around randomly, and the light green blood was all over the place. All over the place, like burnt wax oil.

The drunkard trembled, sat on the ground, and moved back a few steps.

Then he felt something rustling, running around along his fingers, the back of his hand and his arm. The drunkard shivered, slowly lowered his head, and looked over.

It's a group of white spiders.

They are only the size of a fingernail, covered with fine fluff, and have a pair of impressive small black eyes. There are so many of them. Looking around, they are densely packed on the whole floor, from the shop door panels on the inside of the old street to the outside. The railing on the river embankment is like a bag of rice dumped on the road, but the rice grains are slightly larger and can move.

And in the middle of the road not far from him, the white spiders piled up in clusters, undulating like a small mountain range.

No, not mountains.

The drunkard stared intently for a while before realizing that it was the shape of a person lying on his side on the ground. As for who that person was, as the little white spiders fled in all directions, the number of clusters became less and less, exposing the shriveled skin and skeleton underneath, the alcoholic could easily determine its identity.

It's that pretty witch.

At this moment, like the baby carriage, she was cut into four or five sections, but there was not a drop of blood on the ground, and those spiders crawled out of her severed body.

As if those spiders were her blood.

"Stay away." The young man's voice sounded in the drunkard's ear again, and he couldn't help but shudder. Looking around, he saw a thin figure standing a few meters away, holding a long sword and wearing a mask covering his body. Wearing a black robe and a hood, the face cannot be seen clearly.

The drunkard thought this figure looked familiar.

He shook his head, most of the alcohol deposited in his body had already evaporated in the repeated shocks and cold sweats, but the slightly drunken feeling stimulated his thinking very well, making him quickly recall that a moment ago, when he When I wanted to take advantage of the alcohol to rob myself, I once scared a passerby away.

That passerby was dressed like this, but he didn't hold the long sword in his hand at the time.

"Help... help." The drunkard raised his head, looked at the seemingly tall but thin figure, and murmured in a very soft voice. He was really not sure if the passer-by would kill him as a pest.

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Seeing that the drunkard stayed in the same place stupidly, the man in black shook his head, stretched out his hand to wipe the sword, and a layer of light black flames ignited on the long sword, and then the man swung the long sword in his hand, and hundreds of people were killed. Thousands of fine fire points fell, like a downpour, on the swaddling babies, baby carriages, and those white spiders running around.

The creaking sound of the flames and the painful screams of the spiders are intertwined, like a symphony sounding in the depths of The Underworld, with a touch of relief in the cruelty.

The man in black robe took another look at the drunkard.

"Are you still leaving?" His voice seemed a little curious.

The drunkard shuddered, and immediately came back to his senses, before he had time to thank him, he scrambled and fled to the end of the old street. The pitch-black flame seemed to have a spirit, and none of it wrapped around his body. The white morning fog on the old street seemed to be completely unaware of this short and intense conflict, and it was still carelessly and slowly flowing on the street.

The black flame quickly engulfed everything.

The black-robed man looked around, and was satisfied to find that under the cover of the morning mist, no other wizards noticed the skirmish, so he put away his long sword, turned around the corner of the street, and quickly disappeared into the old street deep.

...

...

The port of the North District of Beta Town.

Robert Lee, who was in charge of patrolling the streets, walked along the embankment street, looking around slowly and contentedly.

The short and violent black tide at the beginning of the year became a new topic of bragging for the patrol captain. Even after several months have passed, those past "brilliant deeds" still come out of his mouth from time to time, pouring into the new boys of the patrol team In the brains of the children.

For example, the hunting team of First University was temporarily recruited; for example, he ventured into the Silent Forest alone to investigate the scale of the Kuroshio and Wild Hunt, and came back alive; another example is the famous Ms. Pulitzer's exclusive interview with him.

The "Beta Town Post" with his large half-length photo as the front page was neatly folded into four squares by the patrol captain, and stuffed in the pocket of his coat, so that some strange travelers could know a real hero at any time.

Occasionally, when no one was around, he would take out the newspaper and tirelessly look at the serious and sharp-eyed police officer on the front page.

like today.

The morning mist fills the air, and the surroundings are quiet. It is a good time for self-reflection.

"I should have worn a red tie that day." Robert Lee looked at the photo in the newspaper, nodded, then shook his head, his tone full of regret: "There is still a smile... the corners of the mouth are also curled up a little bit, and they should relax a little Some."

Thinking of this, he looked around for a while, then poked his head over the guardrail, facing the calm water, pursed his mouth, trying to find an appropriate strength between seriousness and smile.